


Savages

by SKZS



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fallout, F/M, Post-Nuclear War, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKZS/pseuds/SKZS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. In a post-nuclear fallout world, Bulma had one goal: cure the dying world. However, with little accessibility to fuel, Bulma's progress began to fall apart, until a shaky alliance with Vegeta gives her faith once more that they could recreate the green world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Guts/Fear

Chapter I: Guts / Fear

The new world was a cruel place to travel alone. Mutant feral animals ran rampant across old roads, sniffing through the rubble for fresh flesh to feast on. They frequently hunted humans, craving anything with warm blood. No one really blamed them though. Nobody asked for a nuclear bomb to be dropped on their home, not only killing millions but leaving copious amounts of radiation so that the survivors could suffer extra as well.

For a seasoned hunter and killer like Vegeta, the animals were not the most troublesome creatures in the wasteland. Mother Nature was likely the fiercest warrior out in the open. She burned during the day time, but barred all warmth during the night, making sleeping without dying of hypothermia difficult on occasion. It did not help that what was left of her food and drink was now certain to make any consumer regurgitate all their bile.

He looked up at the hot steamy sky, wiping the sweat off his gritty brow. He was not sure where he was going at this point, but it was definitely not north bound. He needed out somehow, at least for a little while, and this was the only way to get away without Him noticing.

Though he trusted his own reflexes, he found himself frequently checking to see if his belt pistol was on fire or if his shotgun was still strapped to his back, as if it would fall off without him noticing. Something about being out in the open made him feel uneasy. Or maybe that was the radiation poisoning. He was not certain paranoia was a symptom of the ailment he so frequently experienced.

Vegeta pulled his black goggles he had kept while riding his motorcycle over his eyes, hoping the tinted lenses would help him see past the bright sun. On the horizon, he saw a line of buildings and rubble.

“South City…” He grumbled, his throat feeling dry from the dehydration. Pulling out a pocket watch, he made note of the time and approximately how long it would take to reach the city outskirts. He needed shelter soon. He was not sure how much longer his body could go without water or rest.

He felt his stomach lurch, bile threatening to emerge onto the dry soil. Perhaps no more rats for dinner in the meantime.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The looting mission was on schedule and going as planned. Perhaps for the first time in many years, something Bulma liked to think as the result to her being there. Normally she let the boys take care of the looting missions, not that she could not handle it. She just preferred to stay behind and work on her numerous projects at the plant.

“Bulma! How’s the rad looking?” Krillin called from the left flank.

Bulma rolled her eyes and checked her Geiger counter on her wrist, “It’s still steadily increasing. We must be getting closer.”

Goku has proven to Bulma that the Geiger counter was not nearly as worthy of his attention as his rifle is. After one too many occasions of radiation sickness from the team and Tien now home resting from getting the worst of it, Bulma had decided she better show Yamcha how to use the Geiger counter until she could convince Chichi to let Gohan come on the missions. She found herself slightly resentful at teaching her boyfriend, whose relationship had become unsteady.

A sharp ping caught Bulma’s attention, “Hey boys we need to don our suits for the rest of the way in.”

This mission was particularly important for Bulma because it gave her a prime opportunity to try her latest invention. She was not the first person on this world to create a hazmat suit to prevent high level radiation poisoning, but she was certain she was the first person in the new world.

South City took some of worst of the impact from the war. The large city maintained some of the worst contact, leaving much of the once lavish metropolitan area flattened and intensely irradiated. This also meant hardly any looters have touched the place, which meant an ideal location for scavenging parts.

The boys immediately followed Bulma’s order and started rummaging into their bags for the bright yellow rubbery suit. The suits were somewhat haphazardly stitched together, materials not all entirely matching. She had spent months scavenging pieces and doing research on these suits with what little access she had to old world technology.

“Hmm very stylish, Bulma,” Yamcha muttered as he let the suit hang on his hips to tie his long thick hair up.

“Then leave it off and let your skin melt off for all I care,” Bulma snorted, uncaring to look of hurt on Yamcha’s face from her comment. She was more concerned about replacing her Geiger counter and watch over her suit on her arm.

Krillin chuckled nervously, “You two…” He pulled his suit over his arms, zipping up the yellow zipper. Bulma knew her bickering with Yamcha bothered the other members of the group, if not made them uncomfortable. She could not help feel anger rise towards her former boyfriend when he made snarky comments. She would ignore him if they did not have to live in such close quarters.

When everyone has their yellow suits on, Bulma gave the go ahead to put on their helmets. The helmets limited their ability to hear, so they would have to rely on Goku’s hand signals to continue on. Yelling would work, but not knowing what ferals lurk in the city, it was best to keep silent.

The group followed Goku’s larger form into the city rubble. As Bulma expected, the northern side of the city was largely still intact. While radiation levels were exceedingly high, the area contained many things they could use to keep their lives at the plant comfortable. The area they were in contained what used to be a large shopping emporium. They made their way through the piles of old world cars, stacked up against each other from the shockwave. Goku pushed a fist into the air and stopped in front of the glass doors of the giant shopping center. He motioned for everyone to come forward, then began securing his rifle on his back. As Yamcha and Krillin crowded behind him, Goku positioned himself to begin prying the sliding doors open. Bulma watched as Yamcha and Krillin stood opposite from Goku, also starting carving open an entrance to their looting gold mine. The building towered over the group, likely containing multiple stories of supplies waiting for them to loot. It was not the most morally righteous job, but this world is hardly the place for morals.

Suddenly a loud crack caught Bulma’s attention. It was the sound of Goku breaking through the first door with his behemoth strength. When he cracked the door open enough to fit himself inside, he shot Bulma a thumbs up. Through his shaded helmet, she could tell he was smiling.

Goku was the first resident that came to her family many years ago. He stumbled across the treatment plant when he was only 12 years old, a small red pole in hand. While not someone they could teach a lot of mechanical or chemical skills, Goku’s strength proved to be a valuable asset to her team. He took to weapon handling with ease and could hold his own with hand to hand combat. Other than her sister, Goku remained to be one of her closest friends.

In little time, Goku pushed past the second door, finally allowing the group into the gold mine of supplies.

“What is that smell?” Krillin grumbled, waving his arm in front of his helmet, as if it would dissipate the stench.

Yamcha extend his arm, pointing in the direction what used to be a series of escalators leading to the next floor. Piled upon each other were either rotted or nearly  
rotted corpses.

Bulma shook her head, unable to understand why all these people stayed in such an irradiated area. According to her Geiger counter, this particular area was not nearly as bad as outside, but prolonged exposure without protection could easily lead to severe radiation poisoning.

“Alright everyone listen up,” Bulma said loud enough for everyone to hear without shouting. She slipped off her pack and pulled out sheets of paper with pen scribbled on them.

“Here are you lists,” she dealt out a list to each person, “Remember lists take priority over personal items. Once you have collected your list to the best of your ability, then you can look for personal items. Carry all that you can. Meet back here at 1700.”

Nodding with understanding, once everyone received their lists, they split off, leaving Bulma to wander alone on the base floor of the shopping area.  
Several hours had passed while the crew scavenged the large shopping emporium. As Bulma expected, much of the place had been picked clean, but there was still much to be scavenged. She was not one to give up easily.

She found herself wandering into a large family shoe store for the last item on her listen. Chichi had begged her to put new shoes for Gohan on the list. His growing feet required several shoe trips anyways, but despite this she relented. Her first thought was to replace her ragged boots as well, which were tearing at the seams, but here she was looking at the section of heeled shoes. Even covered in dust, she could not help but feel jealous of their elegance. She picked up a pair of black stilettos with a pencil thin heel. She ran her fingers over the patent leather of the shoes, wiping off dirt and exposing a near perfect sheen.

_My legs would look amazing in these._

The scientist shook her head. What a ridiculous thought. Heels have lost their practicality for decades.

  
Perhaps in another life.

Bulma set the shoe back down on the display and made her way through rubble and discarded shoes to the back of the store where the work boots were located. Much of the store was still intact, which was nice for this occasion. Though like many things, excessive pairs of shoes were frivolous during these times, and her pack was starting to feel heavy on her shoulders.

She picked out a pair for Gohan and stuffed them in her bag then moved down the shelves for a similar size for her. When she decided on a sturdy pair of boots, she made a home in her bag for them. Looking in the large sack, she noticed there was still a decent about of room.

Her attention was brought to the larger men’s sized boots down the aisle and immediately thought of Yamcha. Vaguely, she remembered him complaining about his own boots falling apart. A frown grew on her face.

This could be a peace offering between them. Even if he is an ass to her.

She grumbled something about his fickle behavior and grabbed a pair of men’s boots and stuffed them into her pack, pulling the draw string tight and buckling the straps.

Bulma stalked out of the store and peered over the ledge to see if her comrades her were congregated yet at the entrance. Behind a broken pillar, she noticed a head covered in black spikey hair. Smiling to herself, she began running towards the closest escalator to take her down to the second floor. The idea of completing a looting mission where they did not get shot at was exciting.

However her thoughts were interrupted by her boot catching on something on the ground, causing her to glide face first into the dusty ground. Her pack lunged forward and crashed into the back of her head. Amidst a series of groans and swears, Bulma pulled herself up on the ground and turned her body to identify what she tripped over. She gasped when she realized what she tripped over was a human leg.

And that human leg was attached to breathing human body.

Bulma scurried over to the body and positioned herself so she could get a better look at his face. He was certainly alive, pale and dying from obvious radiation poisoning. His face was covered in sweat and dirt and beneath that, his nose and forehead pink from long sun exposure. If he was not treated soon, death would find him shortly.

 _Could I save him?_ Bulma was not entirely sure. He would need a transfusion for certain. She also was not sure how they would carry him. Like Goku but shorter, this man before her was built with no ounce of body fat.

A low groan escaped the man’s the chapped lips, causing Bulma to jump a little. He stirred slightly, eyes opening slightly, but Bulma saw no consciousness. She knew the radiation was making him delusional.

Kindness was a rare commodity in the wastes. If one wanted something from someone, they better have something ready to give in return. Humans were cruel and heartless in this new world. Bulma knew that firsthand.

But she could be better.

Making her decision, she grabbed the man’s arm and fit his shoulder in the wedge of her own. With a loud grunt and a swift motion, she swung his arm around her back and heaved his body over her pack. Hooking her arm in the crook of his elbow and the bend of his knee, he felt somewhat secure on her back, despite the pistol he had strapped to his chest being pressed up awkwardly against her neck.

Her knees quivered slightly. His body sat heavier than she first anticipated.

_Maybe Goku can see me if I just make it to the top of the escalator._

Bulma grumbled loudly. The escalator was at least 30 paces away. This would be a long walk.

Step by step, Bulma threw one boot in front of the next, stopping occasionally to readjust the man on her back. It was already hot beneath the non-breathable rubber suit, and the extra grown man on her back did not help. Sweat poured from her temple, and her hot breath caused the lenses in her helmet to fog.

Once she made it to the top of the escalator, she was suddenly struck with horror. Her spikey haired friend was nowhere in sight. Neither was Yamcha or Krillin for that matter.

She couldn’t call for them. Who knows if they would hear her let alone if she would attract any ferals or mutants.

I know I can’t run with him.

Bulma swore under her breath. She would have to trek the stairs by herself if she wanted to save him. Praying to no one in particular, she begged that the weight would not throw her off balance descending the stairs.

One step at a time.

She repeated that mantra over and over again in her head as she took the first step. Maintaining balance, she planted both feet on the ledge. When she was satisfied she would not fall, she continued to the next step.

The sweat continued to pour down the sides of her face and forehead. The heat was dizzying, but slowly she descended to the faithful final step. There was a small part of her who wanted to sing when she felt both feet firmly planted on the ground, but she kept focused.

She continued her slow labored steps to the entrance of the emporium, where their meeting place was agreed upon. Bulma nearly collapsed when she neared the dirty wall. Using it for support, she gently slid the man onto the ground and then allowed her own legs to give way beneath her.

Looking at her watch, she knew it would be time for everyone to start showing up. She then glanced over to the body slumped to its side on the wall.

_You’re going to owe me big for this._


	2. Godsend

Chapter II: Godsend

_Wake up, Prince._

Vegeta’s body tore up from the sheets he had twisted and writhed himself into. Body damp from perspiration, his body wracked in tremors, as if he had just finished a fight. His neck twisted around, attempting to get a grip of his surroundings. The room he woke up in was small, light pouring in from a large window to his left. His hand bore a small needle tied to a tube leading to a clear bag held up above him. The man was certain death had snaked her arms around him and drug him down the darkest corners of hell. Where he belonged.

What necromancy brought his damned soul back to life?

As if on cue, a small aqua haired woman stepped into the room, white stained lab coat twirling behind her, a wide smile growing on her pale cheeks. She was lean, but curvy, swinging her hips slightly when she turned towards him.

“You’re awake!” She said before scurrying towards him.

Nerves flooding with stings of panic, Vegeta reached around him for his shot gun, only to find empty sheets. Feeling heat rise to his face, he pulled his left hand to his chest to reach for the pistol strapped under his pectoral, only to feel a pull to the side of the bed.

He looked down in confusion, finding a metal linked chain coiled around his wrist and then hooked to the bedside.

“What the fu-,” He growled, before he felt a small hand rest on his bicep. He ripped away from her touch quickly, scooting away from her on the bed.

“Whoa relax!” The woman said softly, “Your small armory is over there in the corner of the room.” She pointed to where his bag and three guns he always kept on his body gently resting on the wall.

“I did not know how you’d react when you woke up, so I chained your arm to the bed to make sure you didn’t rip your IV out.”

Vegeta shot her an incredulous look, and she quickly amended her statement.

“And I’m not so stupid to think you might not try to kill me either. I’m just being precautionary,” She sighed, scratching her head through her wavy bob.

Staring at the needle, Vegeta’s conscience teeming with questions. The questions flew at him like bricks of dynamite, causing his brain to pound against his skull and his pulse to rise.

How did he get there? Where the hell was this place?

“The shopping emporium.” Those were the only words that his synapses were capable of making at moment.

“We found you passed out there with horrible radiation sickness, so we brought you back, and I flooded you with fluids and some RadAway. Goku luckily has the same blood type as you. I’m surprised you made it so far into South City without dying,” The woman walked over the other side of the bed to check on the bag of fluids. Vegeta watched her carefully as she trailed her fingers down the smooth plastic of the bags.

Suddenly, a woman with blonde hair tied behind the nape of her neck peered into the room, “Oh it seems your patient is awake.”

The woman closest to him smiled and nodded, “Yes he’s quite sturdy it would appear. His radiation poisoning was much worse than Tien’s. Say, would you mind grabbing the tray I started putting together on the kitchen table for me? Chichi should be finishing up with the food.”

Nodding, the other woman disappeared behind the door frame, leaving him alone with the woman with the unique yet bizarre colored hair. She padded along the room and sat at the end of the bed, sinking her fists into the pockets of her lab coat.

“Where am I?” Vegeta finally asked, feeling uncomfortable with her closeness.

She looked at him for a moment, as if she was not sure if she wanted answer him, “My home, I guess you could say. It used to be a chemical treatment plant before my father, my sister and I did some renovations to make it homier. We all live here, my sister who you just saw: Tights, Goku, his wife and son Chichi and Gohan, Tien, Krillin, and Yamcha. We all work together to take care of the plant.”

Vegeta stared at the blue haired woman for a moment. Her politeness towards him not only made him feel uncomfortable, but he felt a slight bubble of anger forming inside him. This woman had no idea where he came from or let alone what he has done. If she did, he was certain she would have certainly passed him by without a single glance. There has to be a reason she and this crew she mentioned saved him from a welcomed death.

“Why did you save me?”

The gruffness in his tone noticeably bothered the girl, for her smile melted into a firm line, the side of her cheek pulled in as she chewed on her thoughts.

“I don’t like owing people things, so might as well tell me why I am here,” he continued, tone growing more annoyed.    

Sighing, she responded quietly, “You don’t owe us anything. I saved you because it was the right thing to do. The decent thing to do.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes and looked up at the dirty ceiling, muttering to no one in particular, “Kindness gets people killed.”

The woman’s temper seemed to have fluctuated when he said that, “Well look buddy, I’ve been kind all my life, and I’m still here!”

“Good for you. Look, Woman, if you were that kind then this place would have been a halfway house loaded with victims of the wasteland who’ve had their limbs chomped off by Radscorpions or mutants alike.”

The woman stood up and paced to the side of the room, absently staring at the dust in the corner, “You can work here if you want. We could use another set of hands doing labor or doing sentry work. Especially since Tien is still recovering from his injuries.”

Vegeta silently mulled over the offer. Did he really want to stay here and do whatever work this woman was suggesting? He was not entirely sure where else he would go. He was far enough south that the Empire would not bother him, at least for a little while.

_Anywhere is better than working for Him._

“What kind of work?” He finally asked, flexing his hand uncomfortably that still had the IV in.

Before she could answer, the woman she called her sister walked in with a tray of plates out sprawled out on the metal surface. The blue haired woman grabbed a bottle off the tray and brought it over to Vegeta, Tights following behind her and setting the tray down on the bedside table.

“This,” was all she said as she shoved a clear plastic bottle into Vegeta’s hand.

A clear plastic bottle filled with crystal clear water. For that moment, he felt like he was holding a priceless diamond.

Without a second thought to smell the liquid for poison, Vegeta tore the top off and threw his head back, gulping down the bottle of water, relishing it’s coldness as it glided down his throat painlessly. There was no burn, no grittiness that he had grown accustomed to when it came to drinking dirty irradiated water. He downed the entire bottle in one gulp, ignoring the cold sting on his teeth.

“I think he likes it,” Tights teased.

Her blue haired sister responded with a triumphed smile, “Do you want more?”

Vegeta cocked a brow at her, “More?”

“Of course!” She laughed, “You can have all you want if you decide to work with us. Our father did not renovated this water purification system for nothing.”

Both sisters stood before him proudly, as he looked at them in awe, unable to formulate words.

“We can’t produce enough for everyone in this region. We can manage with some neighboring villages barely,” the blue haired one said sadly, “We can’t quite handle the fuel consumption it would require to even branch out a little further. But that’s why I have a plan! I’m a genius after all.”

Tights rolled her eyes and gave her sister a slight shove, “Sure, you are.”

“I am!” She protested, “I’ve kept the plant running this long without Dad, haven’t I?”

“With help.”

“Right!” She looked back at Vegeta, “That’s why I could really use your help.”

Vegeta stared hard at the now empty bottle in his hands, then back to the woman’s crystal blue eyes. He sensed an ulterior motive deep in the oceanic depths, and that made him stew with anger slightly.

His mind focused on the tiny droplets that still clung to the sides of the plastic bottle.

 This also turned the tides significantly.

“I’ll do it,” he said with a hint of question left on his tongue, ignoring the chirps of women to the right of him, “For a temporary period of time anyways.”

“That’s great!” The blue haired woman clapped her hands together, “It’ll be a pleasure working with you-uh…” She paused momentarily, suddenly realizing they never exchanged pleasantries.

“Vegeta.”

She extended her hand to him, a smile painted on her pink lips as she said his name, “Vegeta. My name is Bulma.”

He glared at her hand and refused to return the gesture. Instead he lifted his left arm, gesturing towards the chain still coiled around his wrist.

Bulma made a huff loudly, placing her hands on her hips indignantly, “You could say please, Mister.”

“I don’t think so.”

Shaking her head, Bulma stomped over to the other side of the bed, fumbling in her pockets for a key.

Tights plucked the plastic bottle out of his hand and made her way out the door, “I’ll bring you some more water.”

When the satisfying sound of a key turning tumblers could be heard, Vegeta finally felt some relief when he was no longer chained down. He noticed Bulma pulling out a wad of gauze from her lab coat, motioning for him to give her his hand.

“I’ll take out your IV too, if you’re feeling okay.”

He nodded and extended his hand to her, find himself deferential to her softness when her hands brushed up against his rough ones. She pressed the small bit of gauze against the needle and pulled it out of the skin. A red dot took form in the white of the gauze. She held it against his hand for a few moments longer, almost too much longer in Vegeta’s mind.

When she let go of him, he stood up from the bed and albeit wariness in his legs, he strolled over to the corner of the room, picking up his 12-gauge and slinging it over his shoulder, running his hand over the ammunition slotted down the strap. Sliding one pistol into its holster on his belt, his hand comfortably holding the other. He knew a pair of blue eyes were still watching him from behind, making him feel uneasy. Abandoning his bag and its contents, he turned to find her near the wall, arms crossed with a perplex stare.

“There is food for you. I’m sure you’re hungry,” she motioned towards the silver tray still sitting on the nightstand.

Vegeta remained still, watching her cautiously, not shaking the feeling of agitation she gave him.

Slowly, she glided over to him, and with a defiant hand she reached for his shoulder.

“You need to rel-“

Only somewhat cognizant of his actions, Vegeta’s calloused hand encircled around Bulma’s almost bird like neck, thrusting her against the wall. A small gust of air escaped her lips as her lungs flattened on impact; a devious leer crept its way onto Vegeta’s dark eyes. He pressed the end of the barrel of his pistol against the curved apex of her jaw.

Dark eyes met bright azure ones.

“Listen, Woman,” he growled into her ear, “Don’t think because we made an agreement that I’m going to be your friend. The second I smell betrayal-,” He paused and looked down the body of the cold gun in his hand, “-pray you’re not near the end of my barrel. I don’t know what you were expecting when you drug me here, but I certainly am no godsend.”     

However, instead of a response of crippling fear or whimpers, azure met black with defiance.

“No, you listen, Ve-ge-ta,” Her lips curled as she enunciated the syllables, as if she bit into a juniper, “First of all, it’s Bulma. Bul-ma. Second, I know you’re not dumb enough to squander an opportunity like this. I call the shots here, so don’t go around thinking you can bully me with your pistol.”

He sneered at her, grip tightening against her neck, “What makes you think I won’t take advantage of this place myself?”

“Saying shit like that will get your entrails painted across my floors.”

Perplexed, Vegeta suddenly realized something cold against his side. He looked down and saw through her lab coat, the hand that had remained in her pocket was not idle like he had originally thought.

She was holding a gun.

Part of him was amused, but another part remained infuriated with himself for letting his guard down and not watching her devious hands closer.

How could such small hands cause him so much trouble? First touching him, then turning a gun at him.

With wounded pride, Vegeta lowered his weapon but did not loosen his grip around her neck, “What do you want with me?”

“Just trust me.”

With a mocking snort, Vegeta let go of her and stepped back. He sheathed his pistol back to his chest holster and turned towards the window, mumbling under bated breath, “I trust no one.”

 -------------------------------------------

_“Goku!”_

_Bulma felt a rush of cool relief when she saw the large form of her old friend. He ran up to her, rifle held close to his chest. She had been sitting at the door of the emporium for more than twenty minutes and sitting out in the open made her feel uncomfortable and antsy. She spent a long time watching her new companion, examining him closely. For what? She was not sure. Most notably, he was well equipped with weapons on his body and in his bag. Two pistols, a large saber like knife, and a shot gun on his person. Not being able to control her curiosity, she had opened his bag and found an enormous stock of ammunition, a jacket for the frigid nights and another shot gun, this one sawed off. Nothing noted who he was, however. Everything was meant for survival, which perplexed Bulma._

_“Bulma! Man this place is giant” Goku stopped short in front of her and stared at the man slumped up against the wall. “Who is that?”_

_“I don’t know. I found him unconscious on the second floor. He’s alive. I think I can save him if we get him out of here.”_

_“What you carried him down here?” He turned to look towards the upper floor and laughed a little, “Gosh, Bulma I did not know you were so strong.”_

_Bulma smiled at her friend’s response, “I can be when I need to. Goku do you think you’ll be able to carry him back on your back to the plant?”_

_“Sure thing Bulma. I don’t mind. Is he going to live with us?”_

_Not entirely prepared for the question, she remained silent, looking back the face of the comatose man. Would he stay with them? They did not have a surplus of room available; the plant never originally housed people on a round the clock basis. They had plenty of work to do, however. Whether it came to trading with nearby villages or scouting the walls they had built around the property to protect themselves from raiders and bandits._

_She remembered the small arsenal the man had. He was clearly at least adequate with arms. He could be useful there. Her eyes wandered down his form, examining his dirty tank top which covered his muscular torso. While scarred and marled with dirt, his arms rippled with muscles. He looked incredibly strong. Or he could be a murderer._

_There was always that._

_Bulma studied his face, his shut eyes, angular jawline and pointed nose. He looked harmless right now, but that did not mean he could not wake up and spray her with lead._

_“I don’t know Goku. What do you think?” Bulma finally asked._

_Despite his suit covering his head, Goku still reached to scratch his head out of habit, “Beats me, Bulma. We don’t usually take in strays.”_

_He knelt down, examining the man in a familiar fashion as she had just done. In a few moments, Goku looked back her, saying, “I think we should bring him, Bulma. Let him live with us too.”_

_A little shocked, Bulma narrowed her eyes at Goku, “What makes you say that?”_

_Grabbing the man by the waist, Goku slung him over his shoulder, then standing up with greater ease than Bulma had before. “I just have this gut feeling. I can’t really explain it.”_

_“He could be a raider or a bandit. Or worse, part of the Empire.”_

_“That might be true, but even then why would he be all alone out here left to die. He could be a deserter, especially this far south.” Goku extended his hand to Bulma to help her stand up._

_“He could help us.” He added and looking into Goku’s innocent brown eyes made Bulma finally decide._

The moment Vegeta let go of her, Bulma bolted out of the room, no longer feeling comfortable with the man she fought so hard to save.

Regret poked at her conscience. Was this a mistake?

Though, if she was being honest with herself, she may have taken too many liberties with Vegeta’s space. He is obviously not trusting, which is to be expected in a world like this. She should have been more careful.

Sighing, Bulma continued walking towards the common room. She ran her hands through her bob, feeling frustrated with her new resident. What did Goku see in this man?

Suddenly, a voice shook Bulma from her thoughts, “Hey, I have not seen you all morning.”

Bulma turned to see Yamcha lounging in a torn arm chair with a mug in his hand; the other held a small book. His expression made it clear how tired he was.

“How was the morning shift?” She asked casually, her new boots padding softly against the linoleum tiles as she walked over to the coffee machine.

“Long and boring. Nothing in sight at all,” he sighed, “Not even a mole rat or something.”

Pouring the dark liquid into a mug she found in the cabinet above, Bulma turned slightly to respond, “Is that not a good thing?”

“Not when you’re bored. You usually come visit me when you take a break from your morning rounds,” He said, pouting a little bit.

Bulma let out a heavy breath, sensing Yamcha might be reaching a little for attention that he knew she should not give, “Vegeta woke up. I wanted to check and see how he was doing.”

“Who?”

Sitting down on the couch across from him, she propped her arm up under her chin, “That’s his name. The man we brought here from the last looting mission.”

“Oh,” he muttered, taking a sip from his mug.

Both Yamcha and Krillin disapproved of taking on another resident, but Yamcha was most vocal about it, not trusting an outsider in their little oasis. She knew he meant well by his concern. It was not until Bulma pointed out that both he and Krillin were outsiders at one point that he silenced his protests into more passive aggressive quips.

“He was up and walking already. I guess he just needed some fluids and a night of rest,” she said, purposefully omitting that her guest also had her by the throat at gun point.

“Bulma,” Yamcha with sudden firmness, “You know we need to talk.”

Sighing, Bulma stood up from the couch, no lingering wanting to continue the conversation, “I know Yamcha. Just… not now.”

“Well when, Bulma?” he stood up, intent on following her, but she put her hand out, stopping him short.

“I don’t know, Yamcha. Just not now. I’m busy. I have a guest who I need to show around the building,” She said and then walked out of the common room to go outside, wanting to put off her relationship problems for another day. She already had one too many battles for the day.     

Not more than an hour later, Bulma was at the door of the infirmary again, staring at the closed door. She was not a fearful woman in the slightest, but being near this door again made her slightly nervous. She raised her fist to knock on the door, knowing it would be improper to barge in now that Vegeta was conscious and awake from his injuries.

_Just don’t cross him again, Bulma._

She knocked on the door a few times and waited for the door to open. When there was no response, she felted puzzled. Did he leave?

She tried again.

“What?!” a shout came through the door.

Bulma opened the door, finding the man on the all fours doing push-ups on the ground, weapons still secured tightly.

“What are you doing?” she said, arms crossed.

“What does it look like?” he grumbled mid push-up.

She scoffed at the attitude in his voice and looked towards the bed, frowning when she noticed that the food on the tray on the nightstand remained untouched.

“You did not eat anything.”

He looked up at her, sweat dripping down his face, “I’ve had my food poisoned before. I’m don’t care for it to happen again.”

“Poisoned?” she stared at him agape, “Why would we poison you? You did not seemed to be bothered by it when we gave you water.”

Vegeta looked back down on the ground, not saying anything. She caught herself before she giggled at him, knowing she caught him.

After a few moments of silence, he grumbled, “What do you want?”

Bulma stepped past the door frame and crinkled her nose, “Well I wanted to show you around, but I think you need a shower first.”

He looked at her again, shooting her a both annoyed and confused look, “What?”

“You heard me. A shower. You smell,” she pinched the end of her nose, “When was the last time you bathed?”

Vegeta suddenly shot up from the ground, growing at her. She felt her heart leap for a moment, realizing she may have made a mistake.

“You have a working shower?” He asked, staring at her hard with his dark cavernous eyes.

Bulma was colored shocked by his question, expecting him to have her against the wall again, “Yes, I built it some years ago. It’s outdoors and not heated, but it gets you clean. I run a different pipe to it from a special tank I set up, so we’re not wasting drinking water.”

Vegeta remained silent, making Bulma wonder if he ever had a shower before. Bathing is considered a luxury in the wasteland, save for occasionally sponging off grime and caked on dirt from sandstorms. She knew showers were rare if not extinct, since that would require running water.

“Well?” she said, turning towards the door, “I’ll grab some clean clothes and soap.”

  

 

      

  


	3. Ministrations

Chapter III: Ministrations

_“Nappa!”_

_Not wasting time, the behemoth man turned on the heels of his suit to face his commanding officer whose own size was dwarfed by him, despite the two of them being in power armor which added a significant boost to their height. That did not make him any less intimidated by him._

_“Yes, Sir!”_

_“Keep your muzzle up!” Vegeta growled, trying to watch his volume, “If you can’t handle being point man I will not hesitate to replace you with Raditz. Your sightlines are practically being drug on the ground, and I don’t see any ferals or raiders crawling on their guts towards us, so stay sharp!”_

_Nappa stiffened at Vegeta’s order, ignoring snickers coming from behind Vegeta and nodding furiously, “Ye-yes Sir, I guess the hunger is getting to me. It won’t happen again.”_

_He turned back around and resumed his position and continued moving forward. The pangs of hunger were not unusual amongst his squad, and it normally tainted their effectiveness._

_“Listen everyone,” Vegeta called over his shoulder, “Once we complete this mission, headquarters will have food for us. Just focus on what’s ahead. I will not have anyone getting shot because they’re paying attention to their stomachs. We’re nearing our purge location.”_

_Vegeta turned his back to the automated responses of “Yes, sir!” and motioned with a bladed hand to press on._

_Survival came before pain. Always._

The pounding of the cold water felt both relaxing and painful on Vegeta’s sore muscles. Bulma was not wrong about the water not being heated, but the high noon sun burned hot enough to make him forget it. The sensation of cleaning off all the grime and dirt from his body was a relief; it had been likely weeks since he had been able to wash himself properly. He always had to make do with scrubbing off in a murky lake or river, to which no amount of scouring ever made him feel less disgusting. He lathered the scentless soap into his thick hair, scrubbing deep into his skull.

Bulma had surprised him when she brought him to the small contraption set up alongside the building. Wrapped in the multi patterned corrugated steel for privacy, the shower was nothing but pipe secured over half a foot over his head and a single lever to turn it off. There was a cement block under him containing a drain, perhaps leading to another pipe to purify the water again. It was simple but certainly genius.

A familiar pain wracked his body, but this time it was unintelligible if it was from hunger or simply left over radiation poisoning. He hunched over, clutching his gut and pressing his chapped lips together, knowing better than to groan in pain. Bulma was likely still nearby waiting for him to continue talking his ear off.

He had known to woman for just shy of two hours, and save the brief moments she left him be, she continuously chattered about mostly nothing.

Despite this seemingly innocent demeanor of hers, she made him feel uneasy, and the longer he stood in the shower weaponless and vulnerable, the sicker he felt.

“Vegeta!” He rolled his eyes with a scoff.

“What?” He grumbled loud enough to be heard over the pouring water.

“I’m grabbing your clothes so they can be washed. They’re gross and are probably contaminated with radiation.” As she said that she grabbed the clothes that he had hung over the steel door. He could not help but shake his head when he heard them hit the ground with a loud _clunk_.

“What the hell is in these pants?” She said, “They’re heavy as fuck!”

“Damn it!” He growled, shutting off the water. “Just let them be! I’ll remove the items from them myself!”

“Whatever,” She sighed loudly, tossing another pair of pants, undergarments and a shirt over the ledge. A grayish torn towel was tossed on top of the pile she made. “Goku used to wear these before he got taller. They should probably fit you.”

Vegeta chose not to comment on what she meant by that and angrily ripped the towel off the ledge and begun drying himself. He still did not understand why she was asking him to live here with these people. It is not like he charmed his way in; in fact he had her at gun point once today already. But there she was, as he pushed opened the door to see her fluffing her hair, his “gross” clothes hung over her arm. The thought of the amount of blood on his shirt passed through his synapses, but he remained silent.

“Oh good, they do fit,” She said, as he turned his back to her, nervously looking for his weapons he normally kept so close. “They’re over there, where you left them. Didn’t touch em.”

He snorted and reached for his shotgun before even bothering with his boots. He slung the heavy gun over his shoulder, silently counting the rounds in his drum magazine and on his strap. When he was satisfied with the number, he grabbed his belt to secure around his waist, making sure the pistol still sat in the holster. The eyes watching his standard routine burned into him, making him feel uncomfortable.

He turned slightly as he put his boots on to face her, “Where are my pants?”

“Right where they fell.”

He shrugged his bag over his shoulder, leather gloved tucked between his teeth. He shook the pants from the ground, dirt clouding the air. Sticking his hands into the deep pockets, he pulled out a handful of .44s. He retrieved another handful from the other pocket and his pocket watch. Feeling thankful these tan pants he now wore also had a multitude of pockets, Vegeta continued to empty his other pockets, theses ones containing more shotgun shells.

Feeling like her put on enough of a show for Bulma, he tossed her his now lighter pants, surprising her out of a trance.

“Jeez, you don’t need to carry so much stuff around with you. Maybe one gun, but not an arsenal,” She huffed, slinging the pants over her forearm.

“I’ll carry what I please.”

She shook her head and looked down at the two large contraptions hooked on her arm, one which he assumed was a watch, “Okay, let’s get on with this tour. Right now we’re on the north side of the building. It’s the more private part of the building, obviously since I installed the shower here.” She pointed to the tall wall that stood several meters above their heads. “This is the outer walls that protect us and the facility from ferals, raiders and basically anything else. It wraps around everything except the water drums, which I will show you in a bit. The outside of the walls are surrounded with a field of mines, rigged up by yours truly. You know, just in case some dumbass gets the idea to jump the wall. We have a lot at stake here, so we spent the years necessary to fortify the place. Sometimes things break so we’ll send someone out to fix it.”

Vegeta remained silent as he listened to Bulma babble about the trivialities of finding supplies to build such a tall wall. He understood why it was there. He’s certain if the Empire caught wind of this place, there would be a fire squad here within a week. They’re lucky to be as far south as they are.

He followed Bulma around the building where he noticed a small wooden fence guarded a moderately sized garden, housing a parched series of plants containing a small crop of vegetables.

“Chichi takes care of these. The yield isn’t too bad.” She shrugged and kept moving around the building to a vast space facing a blue lake and a row of cement drums. Even at the far distance that they were at, they seemed massive. Only two contained water. She pointed towards the small building near the drums, “That’s where I control the pumps, chlorination, and sedimentation processes. To be brief, we siphon water from the lake, storing it in the drums. Once we treat it so that it is free of pollutants, we store it for drinking or bathing up there.” She regarded the large tower not too far from the building.

Vegeta nodded with understanding, wondering why when Bulma spoke about the process, a dumb smile plastered itself on her face. If anything, he was impressed by the genius that went into restoring all of the aged equipment. He noticed a few people dipping in and out of the empty drums, climbing up the metal ladders that seems so tiny from his position. He motioned towards them with his hand, “And the empty ones?”

Bulma sighed sadly, “Broken. Can’t get anything pumped in or out of them. There must be something wrong with piping, but they’re all interconnected so I’m afraid if I mess something up, I’ll mess everything up. If we could get them working, we could produce much more water. Not that it matters, though.”

“Hn?”

She crossed her arms, his clothes still swinging on them, “I’m lacking the appropriate amount of fuel to run even what I have. This plant ran on fossil fuels pre-war, you know. There is not exactly a lot of that to salvage in the new world.” She ran her hands through her hair, squeezing her eyes shut. “Anyways, those people are some contracted folk I bring in to help out. They don’t live here like the others do, as I’ve mentioned. They just help me out in exchange for caps and clean water for their families, naturally.”

Vegeta dug his boot awkwardly into the dirt, mulling over her odd little sanctuary, as temporary as it might be. He followed her as she began moving again, watching her boots kick up her lab coats tails.

The blue haired scientist continued to show him around the area outside of the building where he originally woke. She showed him an area which she called “The Yard” where she said contained the softest sand. They treated the area as a recreation area of sorts. There were two tables pushed together surrounded by mismatching chairs. A pair of clothes lines hung nearby as well, fluttering with clothes drying in the hot sun. The pull-up bar and set of weights near the wall peaked his interest slightly.

“I was expecting the boys to fighting out here right now, especially Goku. They must be busy. I’m sure you will meet them at some point today.”

“Fighting?” That caught his attention.

“Mmhm,” She nodded towards the crates in the distance littered with twisted and bent aluminum cans, “And target practice sometimes. The boys are obsessed with martial arts it seems, they spar every day. Or wrestle. That’s what it looks like to me anyways. Tights and I don’t participate so much. Chichi did a lot before Gohan was born, but now it’s every once in a while. Why? Do you dabble in art of throwing fists or whatever?”

 He scoffed, “I’m very adept. I doubt anyone here could best me.”

“Ha!” Bulma laughed loudly, “I’m sure Goku will give you a run for your money. He’s a marvel to watch.”

“Unlikely.” Vegeta growled, wondering to himself who this Goku person was that she kept referring to.

Bulma laughed again, much to his annoyance and continued towards what seemed to be the front of the building. What stood before him was an enormous gate, flanked by two even taller towers, ladders leading to their core.

“This is where you will be spending most your time,” Bulma nodded towards the towers, “We need round the clock surveillance, in case of an attack or the trade routes. This is the only entrance to this place, so the scouts see every person who comes in and out of the plant’s property.”

“Hn. Trade routes?”

“Yes, Gohan takes care of a lot of that. If the scout identifies someone as a caravan we trade with, the ‘Bell Tower’ scout will ring the bell once,” She points to the right tower, “Gohan will greet them at the entrance and proceed with the trades. Sometimes we get caps, sometimes goods like that soap you washed yourself with.”

At the sound of his name, a small boy pushed open the doors and stepped out of the compound. Not counting his spikey jet black hair, he stood barely under Vegeta’s chest.

“Hi, Bulma!” He hopped over to the girl, receiving a hand through his hair, “It’s been a busy morning. Three trade caravans already came through! I got Mom more spices for our food! Isn’t that exciting?”

Bulma flashed him a wide grin, ruffling his hair more, “That’s great! I’m excited to see what you procured this time. Gohan, this is Vegeta. He’s the man your dad carried in the other night. He’s going to be staying with us for a while, helping out with scout duty.”

“That’s great! Maybe that means Dad can play with me more! Nice to meet your Mr. Vegeta,” He extended a hand out to the taller man.    

Vegeta shook his head disapprovingly, ignoring the kids hand held out to him, “You have a kid taking care of this? I’m surprised this place hasn’t been infiltrated yet with some raiders posed as caravan traders.”

Gohan answered before Bulma had the chance, “Actually, Mr. Vegeta we only take in pre-existing contracted caravans. We have a special code the scouts use to identify friendly caravans. If we encounter an unknown, Bell Tower rings the bell twice. Bulma or Tights will come up and deal with that outside the walls.”

Vegeta snorted, “That’s not much of an improvement.”

Bulma groaned, “Don’t listen to him, Gohan. He’s an ass.” She gasped and covered her mouth. “Sorry, kid.”

“I won’t tell Mom.” He smiled and turned on his heel, “It was nice to meet you Mr. Vegeta. Those are a lot of nice guns you have. I’m going to go back to counting inventory now!”

As he ran back into the compound, Bulma shook her head, “He’s a good kid. Try to not direct your brashness in his direction at the very least. His mother is… a character.”

Vegeta only grunted in response.

“Anyways, as Gohan said, unknowns mean Bell Tower rings twice. However, you keep your rifles pointed at them just in case things get nasty. If you encounter hostiles, shoot on contact. Hostile group, human or feral, or a Claw means three rings from Bell Tower. That’ll call for back up from us in the compound. We’re all skilled with a gun, including Gohan.” She lifted her coat to show a fusion cored pistol tucked in her pants, “Rigged her up myself. Everyone is packing here, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Plus mole rats sometimes find their way in so stay on your toes.”

“I travel the wastes, I promise mole rats are not something that keep me up at night.” Vegeta grumbled, “Is that it?”

“Almost. We do one hour shifts in the towers, each. You start from Bell Tower and then when you’re rotated, you move to the left tower. Two hours is a long time, but I makes it so everyone else has downtime. The boys primarily take care of the day time. At night we only have one scout stationed in Bell Tower. Everyone takes a shift then so that we can get decent sleep, even me. The middle of the night is worst because your sleep is cut in half, but it’s necessary for everyone’s safety.”

“Why don’t you women pull your weight like the men and scout all the time,” he said, intentionally making the word “women” sound accusatory.

Sighing, Bulma placed her hands on her hips, “Because we all have things to do to keep this place running! Tight and I manage the plant because we are the only ones who know all the inner working of filters and purifiers. Chichi is the only one here who can cook and make anything with the shit ingredients we find in the wastes, and she slaves over keeping the place semi clean when she isn’t doing that, Mister!” She jabbed a finger into his chest, causing him to step back, “And!” She reached to jab him again, “I’m an inventor. A scientist. An engineer! Everything that is functioning here is because I fitted it myself. I’m constantly fixing or inventing a way for this place, which in no way was meant to house people, to be more tolerable and comfortable place to live!”

He grabbed her wrist when she reached to stab him again with her finger, “Enough. I get it. You have an overinflated sense of ego.”

She ripped her hand away from him, “I do not!”

“Uh huh. Are we done here? I’d like to go sit somewhere in silence where I don’t have to hear your shrill voice shrieking in my ear.”

It was almost amusing to Vegeta to watch her fume internally at his insults. He smirked as she attempted to swing at him, only to miss due to her predictability.

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?!” She snarled, pale face flushing red. “I swear to the fucking mocking god in the sky that if Goku had not convinced me with his stupid childlike manner to let you live here, I’d have you out on your ass right now!”

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at her at that last part. Goku is the reason why he is here? What did this Goku want with him?

Bulma let out a heavy breath, likely trying to calm herself down. She raked her fingernails through her hair, again. “Just… follow me.” She grumbled to herself as she pushed passed the doors into the compound and stomped down the hall. Vegeta followed, but kept a reasonable distance from the being in front of him, who he was beginning to believe was insane.

The hallway opened up to a vast room with a large metal table surrounded by chairs in the corner, a torn old couch, and what he assumed was the kitchen.

Suddenly a head peaked up from behind a counter, staring at the two.

“Hi, Chichi! This is Vege-”

Vegeta ducked barely in time to miss the metal spatula soaring towards his head.

“How dare you not eat the food I prepared for you! Do you know how hard it is to come across decent-“Chichi’s voice fell the second she noticed Vegeta’s outward stretched hand holding his pistol pointing directly at her.  She screeched and shouted, “Drop the gun, you lunatic!”

“Don’t fucking move,” he ordered, “Hands where I can see them!” Though if Vegeta was being honest with himself, he was only seeing burning white. His heartbeat quickened, the hammering veiling his hearing. The adrenaline worked its way through his veins like a snake.

Chichi followed his command and moved her hands above her chest. Bulma made quick work of dropping her hands on his waiting weapon, throwing his clothes on the ground. “Relax, Vegeta! It’s just a spatula! Drop your gun!”

At her touch, he snapped out of the trance he was in. Breathing heavy, he lowered his pistol slowly, Bulma’s gentle hands feeling heavy on his gloved ones. He could feel Bulma’s eyes boring into him. He suddenly felt very hot.

Sighing in relief, Chichi raised her voice again, “How dare you! Coming into our home slinging that pistol around! Bulma I have no idea what you were thinking bringing him-“

“Chichi,” Bulma said in an even voice, “Please stop yelling. Vegeta is… paranoid. He spent a lot of time in wastes. Let him be.”

“Bulma you’re insane. He pointed a gun at me!”

The argument between the girls sounded distant as Vegeta stared hard at his hands still gripping the pistol. They trembled slightly, as his vision wavered.  Had he commanded his hands to pull his gun out? He could not remember anymore.

“Bulma.” Vegeta let his hand holding the cold metal drop to his side, “I need to… ”His voice failed him, words trailing off.

Both women stopped talking, and Bulma looked at Vegeta again. He brought a hand to the bridge of his nose, wondering if she would yell at him again.

Instead, she just nodded, “Of course. You should be resting still. I’ll show you to where you’re sleeping.”

“Bulma…” Chichi shook her head, the beginning of her preamble to a protest from what he could tell.

“Chichi, we can talk later. Vegeta follow me. The stairwell is past these doors.” She reached to grab his forearm but stopped herself short, perhaps thinking better of it. She walked towards the doorway, and he followed quietly, stuffing the offending pistol in its holster.

They walked up two flights of stairs to the third floor, where she led him down another long hall way. They remained in silence until she reached a door near the end of the hallway. She turned the knob and opened the door into a room that held a double bed, a small metal desk and a wall of books stacked on top of each other, creating little towers protecting the room.

“This is your room. We don’t have any room in the boys’ room to spare. Goku and his family share a room; those are on the floor below us, and Tights and I have our own rooms since well...  we’ve been here the longest I guess.” Bulma said quietly for reasons unknown to Vegeta.

“Hn. And this room?”

“My father’s, before he passed about six years ago. Nobody has been in it since then. Guess I have not had the heart to give it up yet,” She paused for a moment, staring at the bed and its blue patched blankets. “Anyways. It’s yours. Sorry for the mess. The books are mine. I kind of ran out space in my room.”

“Hn.” He sat down on the bed, removing his shotgun and bag from his back and setting them on the bed. He took off his belt as well, but left his chest holster secured.

The air in the room felt uncomfortable and heavy as he began to untie his boots.

He looked up at her, catching her staring again.

“Oh.” Bulma shook her head, laughing nervously, “Rest. Please. I’ll go grab you some water.”

She quickly turned the disappeared out of sight, shutting the door behind her and leaving Vegeta to his thoughts.

He lied down on his back, his head resting on the flat pillows.

Staying with these people… Many of which he had yet to meet.

Was this a good idea?

Though, a bed and clean clothes felt nice.

_Comfortable._

He had not felt that in some time.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma took her time fetching the water she had promised, her brain racing with thoughts, conflicting ones.

The rational ones told her that this man was very dangerous. He was reactive, violent, and rude to boot. They should just kick him out right then and there. He’s threatened two people today already. That should give Goku reason enough to listen to her.

But then, she knew deep down there was not something quite right with this one. His edginess, the ministrations he took to secure every bit of gear he had, and the look of constant anxiety she knew she saw in his eyes. She even swore she saw him counting the bullets in his gun, as if he thought she would steal them while he was showering. It was no run of the mill paranoia. Perhaps, if they earned his trust, he would become better.

_“I trust no one.”_

She shuddered, remembering the hand that had encircled around her neck not that long ago. Perhaps she would talk to Goku again.

She trekked back up the stairs, a hard plastic bottle fitted beneath her grip. She was slow down the hallway, perhaps self-preservation kicking in. 

Stopping in front of the door, she took a deep breath and cracked the door slightly, fearing that knocking would wake him. She peered in, smiling when she realized he had fallen asleep. She stepped into the room and set the water down on the desk.

Cursing her curiosity, she stepped towards his bed, watching him as he snored quietly.

_He looks so peaceful. Unlike the awake version of himself._

Beside herself, she allowed her eyes to trail around the sleeping form in front of her. His face caught her attention. His dark eyelashes. The wideness and gauntness of his jaw. The natural and sun bored bronze across his features. He was thin, likely malnourished but still strong.  

_He’s quite handsome. When his hand isn’t around my throat anyways._

Realizing what she just said, she shook her head. In a quiet resolve, she reached for the notepad on the desk and scribbled a note on it, then abandoning it and retreating for the hallway.

_Vegeta_

_Try to drink more fluids (promise it is not poisoned). You will feel less lightheaded. When you are rested, come downstairs. Maybe this time you can meet someone without threatening them. Okay?_

_Bulma_

As Bulma descended down the stairs again, she suddenly felt ashamed of writing that note. Thoughts plagued her such as, whether or not he could read. Not many people were literate in the wastes except for Vault Dwellers. In fact, she taught many of people who resided there how to read and write.

She sighed. Would he be angry that she was so presumptuous? Would he threaten her again?

Deciding to sneak past the kitchen to avoid contact with Chichi, she made her way to the common room to find Krillin drinking from his own canteen of water. She made her way over to coffee maker to soothe her tired brain. 

“Hey Bulma, Tights told me our new resident woke up. How is he?” Krillin asked before taking another swig of water.

Bulma stared into her coffee mug as she filled it up, watching the coffee swirl into a vortex at the bottom, “Sleeping again. He’s still adjusting… I guess you could say. Do you know where Goku is? Is he still in the towers?”

“Goku’s outside. Just finished actually. He sounds pretty excited to meet this guy.”

“Huh. That so?” She grumbled before taking her coffee outside into the Yard.

Not surprising her in the slightest, Goku was hanging onto the pull-up bar, ankles crossed over each other, pulling himself up and down swiftly as though he wasn’t carrying much weight at all. He caught eye of Bulma as she shut the door behind her, dropping to the ground with a hard thud with his boots.

“Bulma! Good to see you!” He flashed her a toothy grin, a face she always called dumb yet always found endearing at the same time.

“Hey Goku,” She smiled back, “Have some time to talk? Or are you busy?” The question was more of a formality; she knew Goku rarely did important things other than eat, scout and workout. He was a simple man.

He shook his head, “Of course we can talk. Hey! Is that guy awake yet?”

“He was for a little while. I managed to take him around the property a bit. He is sleeping again though. He’s kinda what I wanted to talk about, actually,” she said, feeling a little sheepish.

Nodding, Goku led Bulma over to a table, and they sat across from each other. The expression on his face became more serious. “What is it?”

“Well,” Bulma stared down at her hands, “I’m a little worried about him, Goku. He’s a little…off.”

“What do you mean?”

She pulled some of her hair behind her ear, “He’s very reactive. He reaches for his gun at a drop of a hat. On top of that, he carries four guns on his person all the time. If you touch him, he tries to strangle you. If you throw a spatula at him, he has you at gun point! I think he’s really dangerous, Goku.”

Goku raised an eyebrow at her, perhaps catching on to her bizarrely specific examples, “I can see where you would be worried. But give him some time! He’s just a little shaken up by the radiation, I’m sure.”

“Goku,” Bulma stared at him hard, “Why is it so important to you that Vegeta stays?”

At the sound of their new resident’s name, Goku visibly shifts in his seat.

“Vegeta is his name, huh,” he trailed off, staring past her into space.

“Goku,” she said again, this time louder.

The younger man reached behind his head and scratched it, “It’s just… he looks so familiar.”

“From where?”

“Before…” he began fidgeting a bit.

Bulma raised an eyebrow at his response, “Before? I thought you didn’t remember anything from before you came here.”

“I don’t, but something about him stands out, you know? Maybe he can help me piece together something.”

“Goku… I don’t know.”

“Bulma,” he said, his voice pleading now, “Please give him a chance?”

At that moment, Bulma knew Goku had her cornered. He rarely asked for anything other than to be fed, and while that was a demanding task on its own, she found her heart melting at the sight of him begging her.

Groaning loudly, she stood up from her chair, “Fine.”

“Really?” His brown eyes brightened as he shot up from his chair.

“It’s a trial basis, Goku.”

“Sure, Bulma! Thanks!” He rounded the corner of the table and scooped Bulma up in his arms for a bear hug, lifting her boots off the ground just slightly. 

A weak noise escaped Bulma’s lips as Goku squeezed the air out of her lungs, but she grinned none the less.

Saying no was useless to this overgrown child.

 

* * *

 

 

Feeling groggy, Vegeta rolled off the bed, clutching his pounding head.  He sat on the edge of the bed, grumbling a string of swears under his breath. His stomach curled and twist in waves, and he doubled over, arms wrapped around his midsection.

Had he really fallen asleep so easily and so deeply? The thought itself made him want to vomit. Someone could have killed him, attacked him in his off guard state, something… An arm unwound from his gut and subconsciously reached for the gun he had on his chest. He was alive though. Everything was here that was his. His thoughts clouded as the pain came over him in another wave.

 His sleep was dreamless, and he found himself thankful for that.

When the pain from his gut subsided, he sat up, staring at the walls. He looked around, reminding himself of his surroundings. The blue haired woman had brought him to this room, claiming it as something he could call his own. The thought made him scoff.

He dug a hand into his pocket and reached for his pocket watch, checking for the time.

_1825? Fuck, it is late._ He sighed, stuffing the gold watch back in his pocket.

In the corner of his eye, he saw the tall plastic bottle with a black top filled with water sat on a metal desk and remembered the thirst that never seemed to leave him.

He stood from the bed and walked over to the desk, feeling the cold tiles on his feet. He picked up the water bottle to examine it and caught sight of the note stuck underneath it. After reading it, he shook his head and casted the torn piece of paper to the side and regarded the plastic bottle in his hand.

_It was not poisoned before,_ he thought to himself, while his hand betrayed him and reached for the lid of the water bottle.

He was so thirsty.

Casting aside doubt, he tore the lid and brought the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig. As he brought the bottle down, he wiped the sliding drip from the corner of his mouth. The coldness was satisfying down his throat, and it cooled the burn in his stomach slightly.

The taste was still clear. There was no grit nor burn.

The man took another long drink before returning the lid to the top of the bottle. Tucking the bottle under his arm, he walked back over to the bed to put his boots back on.

He needed to get the fuck out of this place.

Everything about this place made him uneasy yet somewhat at peace at the same time, and that made him feel uncomfortable. He could not understand why everything was so perfect here. This was a perfect for the Empire to appropriate. It was only a matter of time.

Nervously, he ran his fingers through his hair, which no longer felt dirty.

He needed to face this demon. He could not stay here. Staying in one place would be too dangerous. It would not be long before one of the other fire squads would find him.

_Were they looking for him though?_ Vegeta dug his nails deeper in his skull, _He was dead as far as they knew._

Reaching for his bag and shot gun, he grunted shrugging the items back on his back. The thought made him feel cowardly, and that weighed heavy on his pride. He grabbed his belt and secured it on his waist and made his way out the door.

The hallway was pitch black, but he faintly remembered the path Bulma took him to get to the room. It was straight to the stairs where he descended down them, following a light. He remembered the stairwell led straight to the kitchen, however he was not expecting it to be full of people when he pushed past the doors.

Everyone stopped what they were doing in the kitchen to stare at him, their eyes feeling like tracking lasers pointing right at him. Vegeta scanned the room, catching sight of the people he had met today: Bulma sitting at the table next to Tights, Gohan holding a large bowl full of - what he presumed - food, and the other woman he met earlier today was glaring at him from. Three other men stood in various parts of the kitchen, none of which gave him a friendly looks.

He found himself searching for Bulma’s gaze for some sort of help.

Catching on, Bulma stood up, laughing nervously as she walked over to Vegeta.

“Vegeta! You’re awake. You sure slept a long time,” She said awkwardly.

Not responding to her, Vegeta narrowed his eyes at all the people still staring at him. He balled his fists, an effort to keep them off his pistol.

Bulma noticed his strain, much to his surprise, and intervened quickly. “Everyone. This is Vegeta. He is going to be here helping us for a little while.”

There was a brief moment of only soft breathing and the buzz from the dim lights being heard before Chichi and Gohan returned to what they were doing. Tights stood up and grabbed the bowl from Gohan, but kept her eyes on the visibly nervous Bulma.

Bulma stretched her arm in one of the bald male’s direction, “This is Krillin.” She moved to point to the other bald one with an eye tattooed to his forehead, “Tienshinhan, but we call him Tien,” then she motioned to last male who he did not recognize with a scar across his face, “And Yamcha.”     

The first one she introduced spoke before the others, “Um, hello Vegeta. Welcome.” His voice was shaky and awkward, but he did not sense ill intent from it.

Vegeta only grunted in response.

The other two men remained silent, not removing their stares from him. Instead, they made their weapons glaringly obvious to him. The desire to leave this building only grew in the pit of his stomach.

Bulma spoke up again, “The only person we’re missing is Goku, since he is up in the tower. We’re about to start family dinner. We all gather to eat so we can spend some time together. Usually one of us will take turns on lookout so that we can all enjoy family dinner.”

The smell of food became more obvious to him as it invaded his nose, causing his already yearning stomach to ache more, but he did not show it. He looked at Bulma, considering her for a moment before looking back at the other people who surrounded him.

“Hn. Not interested,” he readjusted his bag and took a step towards the door, only to have Bulma step in front of him.

“Why not?” She almost demanded, “Where are you going?”

“Fresh air,” it was not totally a lie, though if it was he did not care.

“But aren’t you hun-“ she started, but Chichi cut her off.

“Let him go, Bulma,” the dark haired woman turned to him, “If you’re not going to eat with us then you should go start your job and let Goku come in.”

“Chichi,” Bulma shook her head at the other woman.

Vegeta shook his head and pushed past Bulma and stepped outside, relishing in the cold breeze after being in the hot room.  He kept walking towards the front of the compound, checking behind his shoulder to see if someone was following him. When he approached the front grate, he searched for a potential exit from the place. The gate was several yards taller than he of heavy steel, which slid to be locked from the side. He groaned audibly, wondering how he would unlock the gate.

The night was chilled as many nights were in the wastes, but there was no wind to pick up the soft dirt that covered the property in miles. It was not displeasing to Vegeta.

“Hey! You’re the new guy, huh! Vegeta, right?” A voice called up from Bell Tower. Annoyed, Vegeta looked up at the form waving at him through the large open windows in the tower.

At that moment the cold air caught his breath, as his astonishment caused him to take a step back.

The spiky black hair.

The familiar features.

“Bardock?” Vegeta questioned out loud, wondering if the radiation poisoning truly had messed with his brain.

“Who? No, my name is Goku!” He called down and then disappeared from the window.

Vegeta grabbed the bridge of his nose, cursing himself. Bardock was dead. His entire fire squad was dead. He remembered hearing the news from a visibly distraught Raditz. Why was he seeing Bardock?

Hearing a loud thud, Vegeta peered through his hands to see Goku running up to him from the ladder that led up to the tower.

“Who is Bardock?” He asked, trying to look up from under Vegeta’s hands.

“Nobody,” Vegeta sneered, moving his hand to get a better look at his face. Yet his vision was not deceiving him; this man did look an awful lot like Bardock, “Where do you come from?”

Goku ran his hand through his hair, “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t really remember much before coming here. I just woke up at someone’s house one day when I was really young, and he called me Goku.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes, scoffing loudly. That information was useless to him.

“Why?” Goku asked, “Where do you come from?”

“Nowhere,” Vegeta snapped quickly.

“Oh,” Goku’s face fell, “You don’t know either? Damn. I thought…” The man’s voice trailed off as he looked past Vegeta.

“You thought what?”

Goku shrugged, “I don’t know. You seemed familiar is all. Maybe my memory is just messing with me. Sometimes I think I remember bits, but in reality I don’t know if they are real or not.” He laughed and turned on his heel, “I should probably get back to work.”

Seemed familiar? Vegeta felt his mind spinning. Why would this man who he initially thought looked like Bardock think he looked familiar?

As he saw Goku walking back to the tower, he found himself calling out, ”Hey! Wait!”

Goku turned and looked behind him, “What’s up?” 

 “That woman wants you to eat inside. I’ll… take a shift,” he said, not entirely sure why he said what he did.

“Really? You sure?” Goku said, almost overtly excited.

“Yes,” He huffed, walking up to the ladder where Goku stood.

“Wow! Thanks! Hey Vegeta, let me know if you think you remember something about me. I’d appreciate it!” Goku grinned wide, reaching to pat Vegeta on the back, but missed because of the shorter man stepping back.

“Sure,” he spat out and reached to grab the rungs on the ladder.

“Oh,” Goku said suddenly, “Could you maybe not tell anyone about this conversation? I’m not sure if I want anyone to know yet.”

Feeling annoyed, Vegeta kept climbing up the ladder, only spitting out an, “Uh huh.”

“Thanks! It was nice meeting you Vegeta!” Goku yelled and then turned to run towards the compound doors.

Thankful for the silence, Vegeta reached the top of the tower and pulled himself up into the small hut. He pulled off his bag and set it in the corner and sat down on the wooden bench. A thick wool blanket sat folded on the other end of the bench and neatly sat on the edge was an unblemished scoped sniper rifle. He grabbed the gun and examined it, wondering if this was the weapon used for scouting the walls. When he moved his foot, the answer became obvious as he nudged a tower of boxes full of ammunition.

He sat the rifle in his lap stared out at the expanse of land before him. The wastes were depressingly flat, sand for miles and miles. Yet there was something satisfying about looking down on it as opposed to the other way around, which he felt often.

He initially had no intention to be in the tower, but something about meeting Goku made him stay, even if he did not totally understand it. His curiosity fought and won against his own paranoia because if there was hope that there was someone like him left-

It was worth it to stay.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour had passed when Vegeta heard the ladder connected from the center of the tower tremble and creak, causing him to jump up from the wooden bench, reaching for his chest holster. He peered down the hole and caught sight of blue hair, something which he was seeing often today. Sighing, he sat back down on the bench as Bulma pulled herself up from the ladder.

The smell of food hit him again quickly, and he turned to see she was balancing two plates piled with various combinations of food. They made eye contact briefly, and Vegeta wondered why there was a hint of nervousness in her eyes.

“I brought you some food. I thought maybe you’d be hungry after today,” she said as she set down the two plates on the bench.

“Hn,” Vegeta grunted in response before turning back to continue watching the landscape.

“Do you still have that plastic bottle I left you?” She asked, pulling out a large sealed container of water out from under her arm.

Nodding, Vegeta reached underneath the bench and handed her the empty bottle.

She began refilling the bottle from the larger one, “I know it can be kind of hard to get used to everything here. I think you’ll find yourself at home after a while.”

Vegeta only scoffed in response to that, wondering to himself if the woman was even present when he walked into the kitchen.

She set the filled bottle next to the plates of food, and then continued watching him from behind.

“You have a staring problem,” Vegeta grumbled.

Bulma let out and audible gasp and crossed her arm indignantly, “I do not!”

“You haven’t stopped staring at me all day.”

She shook her head and gestured towards the two plates, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Why? So you could watch me do that too?”

Groaning in what he presumed to be annoyance, “No! I just want you to eat the food! We can’t afford to waste food!”

Vegeta shrugged, “I might.”

“Ugh!” She scoffed and grabbed a fork that had been perfectly balanced on the edge of the plate and scooped up a large pile of mashed root vegetable and arched her body just so that Vegeta could see her from his seated positioned. She growled, “See!” and stuffed the food in her mouth and chewed a few times before swallowing, “Not poisoned!”

Vegeta eyed her for a moment, as she attempted to look menacing with a fork in her hand. They held that stare for a moment before he said, “Have you experienced a significant amount of radiation exposure in your life?”

Baffled, she sat the fork back down on the plate and placed her hands on her hips, “No, why do you ask?”

“Huh,” he huffed, “Can’t for the life of me figure out how anyone could have fucking blue hair. That’s all.”

Making another indignant noise, Bulma stomped over to the ladder and began fitting her feet back into the rungs, “You- you prick! And what about your height? Talk about radiation poisoning!” And with that, she descended the ladder amidst swears and inaudible grouses.

Feeling a little bemused with himself, Vegeta reached for a plate and the fork that was pointed so threateningly at him. With it, he scooped up a pile of food and with slight hesitation, began eating.      

 

 

 

 

 

       

    

       

     

                        

                 

 


	4. Killshot

Chapter IV: Kill Shot

_The metal tips at the fingers of his gauntlet bore into the fibers of the stained shirt -it was always hard to be delicate when in power armor. Beads of sweat carved tracks down his dirty bloodied face. The tracks trailed down from his eye sockets, giving the façade of a crying broken man. Though, perhaps they actually were tears._

_It would not have been the first time Vegeta brought a grown man to tears. Nor was it the first time that same man’s wife would be screaming in the background, her body twisted in a fetal position as her hands fisted into her hair, attempting to control her mania._

_With a thrust, he pulled the kneeling man to his feet, causing his limp head to lunge closer to Vegeta’s face. When the man spoke, his voice was low and guttural. It was calm, decisive, meant to deceive._

_He chuckled, “For some who is supposed to be in charge of a booming town such as this one, you’re inexplicably pathetic. How do I know I’m not being tricked?”_

_There was no intelligible response, only a whimper highlighted by the tremble of his pupil. The eyes of a dying man, a recurrent image tattooed in the officer’s brain._

_With a violent shake, Vegeta spoke again, this time more forceful, “Are you or are you not the mayor?”_

_His neck stiffened to give a frantic nod. Satisfied, Vegeta dropped him so that his body crashed into a boneless pile and replaced his free hand back on his shot gun. His hand trailed over the drum magazine mindlessly, taping the barrel against every chamber._

_14 shells. He had been a little trigger happy that day._

_Broken, the man started, “I knew his men would come someday… but-” He stopped, giving way to an attack of coughing, blood spurting onto his shirt as his body wretched._

_Curious, Vegeta bent down to the man’s level, “Oh? But what?”_

_“You!” came a scream from the corner, “You’re the monster who has murdered hundreds! Maybe thousands by your own gun. Women, children! You are devoid of emotion or feeling! You’re but a shell of a man!”_

_Their eyes met, cold stone versus watery blood shot, but he looked again back at the man, “I did not think the bastard would send…” He paused and wheezed, “…you.”_

_There was a long pregnant pause before Vegeta reacted. He stared long at the town leader before smirking manically. “Aren’t we so lucky?” He said, flashing a row of white teeth. “Let’s get down to business. It seems you’re familiar with our trade. The village is now occupied by the Cold Empire. You have two options: bow your heads and swear your allegiance or you fight with what measly weapons you have and we purge. Your choice, Mr. Mayor.”_

_He paused for a moment, reverting his gaze to the ground. When he looked back up, he said, “What if we swear our allegiance? What does that mean?”_

_“That means my men will stop terrorizing the village, seizing, torturing and raping. The fun shit,” Vegeta chuckled at that and grinned hungrily at his cowering wife who began crying all over again, “And you will begin trade and commerce with the Empire. You’ll subject to taxation of course. It’s a solid deal, I’d say.”_

_The mayor’s eye grew large and glassy. It was in question before, but now it was certain there were tears welling in the corners. This time felt different though, and the sentiment left Vegeta feeling cagey._

_“I’m not giving you time to mull this over. Bow or die,” Vegeta said._

_Hiding his face in his dirty palms, he moaned in a way only a dying animal would, “We submit jus-..just stop hurting people...”_

_Grinning, Vegeta firmly gripped his shot gun before directing the muzzle so that his sights lined up perfectly with a sweaty brow._

_“Good to hear. A shame you can’t join us. Can’t have any renegade leaders can we?” said the prince evenly and the man lifted his head. With perfect calculation, he pulled the trigger._

_Vegeta’s signature kill shot._

_He stepped out of the small house, not hearing the screams coming from behind him. He turned where he knew Nappa was standing guard near the entrance. He had a feeling he knew where the rest of the squad was._

_“Major?”_

_“They’ve submitted. Seize terrorizing. Use the screaming bitch as a witness of our deal.”_

_“Yes, sir!”_

* * *

 

 

Vegeta did not leave Bell Tower till sunrise, and the early fourth hour sun welcomed him warmly. He had rejected every offer to switch out, offering the excuse that he was not tired, which was only partly a lie. He was tired. In fact, tiredness bore into his very core. Exhaustion was not only an adjective to describe him but the string that sewn him jaggedly together. But he could not sleep. Not during the night anyways. Demons come out at night.

And if he was too tired by morning, maybe they won’t bother him then.

A wordless Tien relieved him from his new job, and he began a slow journey to the space that he was designated to sleep, empty plates in tow. He would not call it his own because that would leave an imprint of possession. That would be too personal, and things could not get too personal here.

With a _klank_ , the dishes and silverware slid into the empty basin, the place Vegeta assumed Chichi kept the dishes. He did not care enough to look elsewhere in the dark kitchen.

He made his ascent up the stairs and down the hall until the sound of a door opening caught his attention, he turned to see a blue haired girl stepping out of a room, clad in shorts and a torn over-sized t-shirt.

He did not know her room was so close.

“Vegeta?” Bulma said as she rubbed her eyes, “What are you doing up so early?”

“Am not,” It came out more of a slur than he intended.

Her clog slippers made little sound a she stepped towards him, and he made no move to keep going. She squinted at him, the darkness of the hallway making it difficult for him to decipher the look on her face.

“Oh,” She said, “You never slept? Were you in the tower all night?”

His response came with a nod.

“Did no one want to switch out with you?”

He shook his head.

“You don’t have to do that you know. Stay up there so many hours.”

He shrugged and said, “It is fine.”

“Hm,” she crossed her arms, “Well get some sleep I guess.”

He turned to leave, but stopped at the door and turned to find her still standing there. Without thinking, he asked, “Why are you up so early?”

“Oh I uh had an idea,” she said hesitantly, as if she had forgotten, “An invention? Or maybe it is better to say reinvention.” She laughed, but he did not get the joke. “Sometimes these ideas just come to me at night, and I just need to write them down or else I’ll forget them, and they will just end up in my brain’s purgatory not being put to use. Which is terrible, you know?” 

He stared at her for a long time, processing not only her explanation but the self that stood before him, barely one above the other in height. Only another moment passed and Vegeta pushed open the door, only nodding in her direction and leaving Bulma alone in the drafty dark hallway.

 

 

A few days passed, and it became more normal to have the stranger around. He was mostly a shadow, only appearing when needed, which currently meant in the towers doing scouting duty. Other times he remained in his allocated space in the compound. Bulma did not expect everyone to warm up to him quickly, especially with his off-putting demeanor, but she did not think he would be so reclusive either. She had not spoken more than few sentences to the man since meeting him in the hallway that weary eve of dawn; the morning where she was in a frenzy scribbling notes for her current project in her underwear. She barely had enough time to put them on to catch him at his door. She was trying, he just always managed to brush her off one way or another. She brought his dinner to him every evening in the tower, and she would try to make conversation, but he would just plain ignore her, which nettled her beyond her comprehension.

Perhaps that could explain why she was growing more and more interested in figuring the man out. However, Bulma also knew that she had piles of work to accomplish, and she could not spend her precious daylight hours wondering about the stray she carried to safety on her back who had yet to thank her from saving him from likely mutation and painful death.

The blue haired girl huffed and blew some the offending blue hairs that stuck to her cheek away. She snorted at memory with annoyance.

“Tights,” she started, turning to her sister as she moved towards the pipes which contained the strained but not sanitized water. The older blonde haired girl stood on the other side of the pipes, writing notes down on a clip board.

“Hm?” she did not look up from her scribbles.

“Have you seen Vegeta around much? Do you ever see him doing things?”

Tights wedged her pen beneath and rusty metal clip on the board and walked towards the control panel for the chlorine. “Not really. I only ever see him in passing to and from the towers. He’s pretty grumpy looking.”

“Huh,” Bulma muttered, “He has to do something else with his time.”

Shutting the panel, Tights suddenly turned towards Bulma, “Oh! I do remember Gohan mentioning seeing him on the pull up bars, which I guess makes sense that he’d like that, considering those biceps.”

The younger sister laughed, “Yeah that makes sense. He was on the floor doing push-ups right after being in that hospital bed for nearly 36 hours.”

“Seriously? Come to think of it, he has recovered remarkably fast. Much faster than Tien, whose injuries were much more inferior.”

Bulma stopped for a moment and thought about that. Vegeta had healed quickly. Far quicker than he should have. It certainly was unbelievable, but she also deduced to what could be genetics or an impressive immune system. She thought of his pig headedness and wondered if that stemmed to injuries as well. She shook her head and continued testing the water with the pH strips she produced from her lap coat pocket.

“Yamcha was looking for you this morning,” Tights said.

“Great. I guess I should talk to him.”

Tights laughed as the two girls made their way to exit of the pump house. They removed their lab coats and hung them up on the hooks by the door. She pushed the door open and said, “What did you guys in this time?”

Bulma scoffed loudly, following her sister outside into the blistering heat, feeling thankful her for cut-off shorts as she could around feel the sweat creeping on her brow. “We got into a fight about him poking his nose around that younger girl Shirk brings around on his trade routes.”

“I think that is his daughter.”

Bulma feigned a wretch dramatically and her sister giggled again, asking, “Well is he cheating?”

“I don’t think so,” the younger sighed, “He does not have the balls to do so. At least I don’t think so. Also the girl has blue hair. Real original.”

“Bulma,” Tights said suddenly with more seriousness, “You two have been seeing each other for like ten years. Don’t you think this on and off business is getting old? All it takes these days is a small thing and you two are off fighting again. Where is the magic in that?”

There was not much of a response to that, leaving Bulma feeling cornered and a bit ashamed. She had often pondered the same thing when her mind was not occupied with work. Yet, maybe that was just the thing. She never thought about him unless there was nothing else to think about. Was there any magic anymore like when they first met? She still remembered the flighty first stage of their relationship, so full of innocence and excitement. They would sneak off at night together and climb into the empty water storage drums to fool around in. He was her first boyfriend, but as expected the newness did not stick.

The truth was, she was getting more and more tired of him.

“Magic? You sound like such a writer,” Bulma said, brushing off her sister’s concern.

“Well that is what I am. Writer turned chemist or something,” Tights shrugged.

“Who would’ve thought you’d use that science degree Dad made you get,” chuckled Bulma, feeling a little calmer that the subject of her relationship had passed.

Abruptly, a long roaring chime could be heard from the other side of the compound. It startled the two girls with its suddenness.

“Gohan’s doing another trade. That’s the third time today. We’re getting busy,” Tights said.

“Huh, that is weird. I thought we had our regulars come in today already. Let’s go see who this is.”

They rounded the corner of the building to find Gohan standing at the gate while Bell Tower raises the gate. Bulma arched her neck slightly to get a look at who were at the towers. For some reason, she found a little disappointment in the fact that it was Goku and Krillin. The steel screamed loudly as it was pulled up, allowing two forms to enter into the compound, and once Tights and Bulma recognize the two, they only groaned.

“Master Roshi! Oolong!”

Bulma often wondered about the innocence of Gohan. The kid was beyond intelligent, her lessons with him on calculus and physics proved this, but she knew he got his judge of character from his father who took several years to learn basic algebra.

“Gohan!” the older man said, meeting the boy with equal excitement, “How has the training been going?”

“Kid I swear you look taller,” Oolong added, scratching his round belly. While neither were tall at all, but Oolong stood even below Gohan’s small frame.

“It’s been great! Dad is working on my striking lately. Can you stick around to watch?” Gohan said excitedly, skipping over to the pair, clipboard still in tow in his small hands.

“Oh, if the ever powerful matriarchy will have me,” he chuckled before looking at Bulma and Tights, meeting unimpressed looks. “Ladies?”

“Freeloaders,” Bulma spat back, ignoring his poorly constructed compliment.

“Awh, Bulma don’t be like that. Your legs look quite shapely in those shorts. Doing those squats I suggested?” Roshi said, raising his bushy white eyebrow suggestively. 

Bulma felt that heat was suddenly not coming so much from the outside, as she felt her face grow hot, but she stopped short when her sister grabbed her shoulder.

“Roshi, you and Oolong can stay for dinner. Just lay off the creepy shit, okay?” Tights said, reminding Bulma of her father’s soft nature, a trait Tights more so inherited than herself.

“Tights,” Bulma groaned.

“Come on, Bulma!” Gohan said, pleading slightly, “Let them stay, please?”

She softened slightly towards the young boy and sighed, thinking of what other innocent clown she heard that from. “Whatever. Just don’t test my patience any more than you have, you lechers,” She glared at the two, feeling somewhat good about herself when they shrunk back away from her.

Gohan cheered a little and thanked Bulma, as he motioned for the pair towards the back, but he stopped short when the door swung open. Right on time to switch, and it came with a familiar scowl and an exceeding amount of fire arms on his person.

“Oh excuse me, Mr. Vegeta,” Gohan said as he backed out of Vegeta’s way.  

“Who’s the new guy, kid?” Oolong said gesturing to Vegeta who stopped in his path towards Bell Tower. His dark eyes glowered at Oolong and he immediately backed away, inching to hide behind a nine year old. Vegeta’s demeanor looked fairly normal to Bulma, but this time he did not have his usually leather bag strapped to his back. He still had his usual combat shot gun and twin gun holsters.

“His name is Vegeta. Bulma invited him to stay here with us,” While Vegeta was still staring he added, “Mr. Vegeta, this is Master Roshi and Oolong. Master Roshi taught a lot of us martial arts! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind teaching you as we-“ the boy trailed off when Vegeta turned away and kept walking towards the ladder.

A flash of anger and Bulma was already growling, “Don’t bother, Gohan. He thinks he’s better than everyone here anyways. Asshole,” she mutter the last bit loud, not caring that he already cleared the top of the stairs into the hut.

She did not understand at all what interested her about that man. He was obviously a complete prick.

 “Bulma.”

She turned to face where her name came from. It was Roshi, stroking his long dirty white beard, peering at her through his sunglasses, but in a way that was more serious, more concern, “Bulma, where did Gohan say you found this guy?”

“We were hunting for more supplies. I tripped over his body at the South City Grand Shopping Emporium. I managed to revive him from near death. I don’t know much about him. As you can probably tell, he is not much of a talker, but he is _relatively_ harmless.”

When she said it out loud, she definitely sounded crazy for keeping him around.

“Hey Master Roshi!” Goku called from the top of the ladder, and then, with more glee than even his own child could muster, he slid down the sides of the ladder, causing a plume of dust to billow around his feet when he landed. “In an hour -well actually make it an hour and a half so Chichi can make lunch- we can start training!”

Master Roshi sighed, “Very well, Goku. But I won’t go easy on you.”

“Yes!” Goku nearly skipped to the base of the other tower, and Bulma would not had been surprised if her found a way slide up that one as gleefully as the other one.  

“Hey guys! I think we have more company!” A voice called from that same tower, and Krillin peered out the window with binoculars.

“Another trade?” Tights called to Krillin.

“Maybe! But I’ve never seen this group before!” Goku popped up from behind him, taking the binoculars from him.

“Bulma! There are two guys that I can see. They’re leading a huge Brahmin cart heading down the road! I’ve never seen them before either!”

At that, unease gripped around Bulma’s body, the sweat on her going cold. She whipped around and called an order to Gohan, “Take Oolong and Roshi into the house. Grab whoever you can find and post them by the door. Make sure they are armed, Gohan!”

He nodded and grabbed Roshi’s and Oolong’s arms. When they disappeared into the compound, Bulma readied to call to Vegeta to keep his rifle locked on but when she looked up at Bell Tower, he already had the scope to his eye. She was not all that surprised.

“Bulma, they could just be passerby traders who happened upon the place.”

“Not willing to take any chances.”

Her sister shrugged and out of the corner of her eye, Bulma saw her pulling out the energy pistol from her leg holster, a weapon she helped rig up for her. She did the same with her own pistol, fishing out warm fusion cells from her pocket to pack into the barrel. She was almost disappointed that she did not have her newly modified energy rifle with her; it was still perched up against her desk.

 The figures in the distance came towards the compound on the broken down road that led to gate. Bulma motioned for her sister follow her, meeting the group a few hundred meters from the gate. They were two gentlemen leading the massive cloak covered brahmin cart, both in a dire need of a shower. The assault rifles on their back sent an uncomfortable chill down Bulma’s spine, but she chalked it up to necessary protection from the Wastes, in an effort to be “neighborly” as her late well-meaning father would tell her.

“G’afternoon ladies. The name is Jackal and this is my buddy Axman,” he jabbed a dirty thumb in the direction of his friend, “We’re sellin’ wares from a recently opened Vault. We’re curious if you’re lookin’ to barter? We take about anythin’.”

That grabbed Bulma’s attention. Vaults do not typically open. Not this soon. She shot a nervous look to her sister, who kept her eyes on the two men. “How did you find this place?”

“Just passin’ through, Miss,” Axman shrugged, “Quite the place ya got ‘ere. Must be somthin’ special for you to keep so fortressed.” He gestured to Goku’s and Krillin’s positon, both of them locked to the men with rifles.

“We like our privacy, and are wary of newcomers just like any other person who lives in the wastes,” Bulma said, “What sort of Vault wears are you selling?”

“Well look ‘ere,” Jackal gestured for the two to come closer, “I promise I ain’t gonna bite.”

Tights shook her head, “How about you stay there and show us.”

He chuckled loudly as he pulled opened his jacket coat to reveal a blue vault jump suit.

Bulma, taken a back, barely stifling a loud gasp. The words glaring in black on the thick dirty cotton of the jumpsuit **“VAULT 45”.** Sure enough, that was vault wear. Vault 45 was only approximately 120 kilometers away from the water treatment plant, according to her most recent old world map. Questions circulated in Bulma’s brain rapidly like an angry stream. The possibility of an open vault in the area created a fountain of opportunities for the group at the plant. Vaults equal old world technology, which meant more equipment for water purifiers. More equipment for powering the compound. There could be other supplies as well to sustain the people her. Bulma’s face warmed at the thoughts pouring through her brain; her heartbeat rattled inside her ears.  

Trying not to stumble over herself, she asked, “Wh-where did you get that?”

“We told ya, there is an open vault near ‘ere. Do you wanna see the wears or not?” Axman gestured to the large pile covered by the thick fabric.

Eagerly, Bulma stepped towards the one closest to her, “Yes show-“

Then a loud shot and Jackal’s forehead showered Bulma’s entire front with fresh warm crimson blood.

Before she could even speak, another shot and Axman body fell into a limp pile

The doors to the compound swung open and Tien and Chichi pushed through, weapons in tow.

Her breath caught and Bulma looked where the shots came from and he still staring straight down his scope. Trembling she shouted in a fury, “Vegeta! Wha-what the fuck?!”

“Get away from cart!” He shouted a deep guttural snarl; his voice boomed from the tower.

Suddenly, the cart reared on its own, the tarp moving against it and human like grunts could be heard from underneath and a shot fired from the center of it, barely missing Bulma and Tights. Vegeta fired three more shots into the tarp, a whining noise escaping.

“Do it Bulma! Tights! Move!” Goku shouted from the other tower.

“What?” Bulma demanded, but Tights grabbed her arm and pulled her away at a dead sprint.

Vegeta shot again three more times and Goku began following suit, the last shot catalyzing a whirl of fire from the cart, the blast knocking Bulma into Tights and sent them tumbling into the red colored dirt and rocks. Shrapnel and pieces of the cart flew past them.

Bulma looked up from the ground, seeing the brahmin tipped on its side, clearly no longer alive as the side of its stomach could be seen torn open. The cart was scorched and blown apart, some bits still on fire, burning away next to the dead bodies.

That is when Bulma noticed, there were more than two human bodies on the ground.

She turned and looked at her Sister who was still on her side, “Tights? Are you okay?”

Groaning, Tight grumbled, “Yeah, just some ringing in my ears. Wha-What happened?”

“I am not really sure…”

“Bulma! Tights!” Chichi’s voice rang in the distance, her boot thuds nearing the two girls, “Are you girls alright?”

Bulma sat up, clutching her head, “We are doing just peachy, Chichi.”

Chichi reached the two, knealing down to help Bulma up, “What did that psycho do?”

“I would stay back if I were you idiots!” Vegeta came through the gate, shouting behind him, “There could still be undetonated explosives in the aftermath.”

He still had the sniper rifle in his hands as he stalked over to the smoldering pile, still glowing and flickering as a gentle zephyr crossed from the canyon.  He inspected the rubble, kicking dirt over some of the still active flames. Goku, Krillin, and Tien could be seen peering out from the gate.

“Hey!” Bulma side stepped Chichi who was now helping Tights to her feet and stomped over to Vegeta, ignoring the searing pain in her temple and the sense of griminess all over her body. “What the hell was that about?”

“You’re pretty fucking stupid for someone who claims to be such a fucking genius,” he responded hotly.

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me. I just saved your ass from getting ambushed, “He pointed to the burnt pile, gesturing to the bodies of three other men hidden under the tarp. She felt herself growing queasy when she saw appendages several feet independent from their owners. Blood stained the pavement and dirt, while scorch marks permanently marked the blast area. 

“Bulma!” Goku jogged to her side, “You alright?”

 She sighed, “Yes, Goku. I’m alright.”

Goku stared at two corpses that Bulma had been speaking to just minutes before and then turned to Vegeta, “Wow, right between the eyes. You’ve got one hell of a shot. How did you know they were going ambush us, Vegeta?”

Instead of immediately responding, he walked around the blast area, carefully side stepping any shrapnel or foreign objects on his way over to Axman’s body. He reached down and grabbed the front of his coat, lifting the body from the ground. He shifted the grip on the collar so the body rotated to the side to expose the neck. “Spotted this. This one was dumber than his friend, not covering up all his disgusting tattoos.”

The shaky black symbol on the skin of Axman’s neck was haphazardly drawn snake tattoo. It looked familiar, but Bulma was not completely picking up what Vegeta was suggesting.

When he was given no response, Vegeta clarified, “They’re raiders. That’s the symbol of the south legion. I haven’t seen very many of them from there, but I make it a point to memorize all raider faction symbols.” He stopped and glared at Bulma directly, “I suggest you do the same, unless you want this to happen again.”

“It won’t,” Bulma spat.

“You’re a damn fool for getting so close to them. You should have been more cautious if you don’t want to be shot dead on the spot,” he added, tone growing more irritated, “Or worse. Don’t you know what raiders do to people like you? They kidnap them and –“  

“Shut up! I get it!” Bulma yelled, “I know who raiders are and what they do. They were making me an offer that was…” She trailed off and sighed heavy, “They lured me with VaultTech. I was beside myself.”

“Vault shit?” Vegeta scoffed, “That’s impossible. No vaults have opened since the war.”

“That’s what I thought too, but that one has a vault jumpsuit,” she pointed towards Jackal, “I was convinced. We could benefit so much with VaultTech.”

Vegeta shook his head, “Vault trash are cowardly useless fucks, hiding from an inevitable war. You’re better off without their aid.”

Bulma was about to respond but Tien caught her attention as he was running towards them with a shovel.

“To bury the-,“ Tien paused while assessing the pile before him before continuing , “-damage.”

“Wait,” Vegeta said and bent down to grab the tarp, gently pulling it to the side of the pile. He turned to Bulma, “You. You said you build IED’s right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Check and see if there are any UXO’s hidden in here. Fucking fools were lucky they didn’t hit a bump too hard, riding with these damn homemade explosives with them.”

An argument was on her tongue but rationality overcame the bubbling anger inside of her. While his attitude towards her ignited an unusually explosive anger in her, Vegeta was right none the less, and the safety of the compound and its residents were at risk if she did not listen to him.

Bulma knelt down and inspected the pile gingerly, careful to no touch anything if she did not have to. Her eyes darted around, search for fuses, blinking lights or anything else that seemed out of place. When she turned up with nothing, her mind rationalized that the blast from the cart undertaking fire detonated any other explosives.

Feeling confident and suddenly weary, she said, “It’s safe. Let’s clean up this mess and get back to work.”

Tien nodded and moved to a more suitable location to start digging a hole. Chichi began walking with Tights back towards the gate. Bulma stood for a moment, sighing when she realized Vegeta was nowhere to be seen

“He went back up into the tower while you were looking in that pile,” Goku said, interrupting her thoughts.

Bulma scratched at her now filthy hair, “I guess he didn’t feel like hanging around and checking my work to make sure I was right.”

“I’m sure he just trusts you, Bulma.”

With a snort loud enough to surprise even herself, “Unlikely, Goku. That guy does not trust a damn soul.”     

Goku shrugged, “I dunno. Seems like he talks to you the most.”

Laughing, Bulma began walking back towards the gate as well, “Well of course. Who wouldn’t want to talk to me? I’m an adorable and charming young lady.”

“Who is covered in a lot of blood and brain juice still,” Goku laughed.

At that, Bulma suddenly remembered her recent bath in red bodily fluids and nearly vomited right on her feet, not responding to Goku when he called, asking if the brahmin was still edible. She instead bolted for the back of the compound, destined to beat her sister to the showers.

 

* * *

 

Mid afternoon after helping Chichi clean up after lunch, Bulma found herself relaxing on a lounge chair by the yard, now dressed in a clean pair of coveralls. The day had taken a lot out of her already, and she felt it was high time for a break to unwind under the warm sun. She was watching Goku and Yamcha practicing forms for fighting, Roshi instructing them as they changed positions, trying to mirror was he was doing. Gohan was sitting by her feet resting as well with a bottle of water in his hands.

“Bulma?”

She lifted up the brim of her baseball hat and tilted her sunglasses, “What’s up Gohan?”

“Why have you learnt any martial arts?”

Turning her attention back to Yamcha and Goku who had begun sparring with each other, “I’ve never really had interest I guess. My strongest muscle is my brain anyways, that’s what’s most important.”

Gohan nodded, but asked, “What about protection against feral animals or people?”

“I’d rather just use my gun and vaporize them from a distance than worry about getting that close to them.”

“That’s where you are a fool once again.”

Bulma looked up, know that voice was definitely not Gohan’s; it was deeper, meaner and certainly not from the polite nine year she helped raise since birth.

“Oh yeah? How so Vegeta?” She sighed, turning around the in the chair to see him standing in the doorway, intensely watching the two men sparring ahead of him. He did not bother to answer her, but instead started unbuckling his chest holster. He swung his shot gun over his head and set it against the building wall. He dropped the holster on the ground and started working on his belt holster as well.

“What are you doing?” Bulma asked, yet was not all surprised when the only answer she received was his back turned to her, as he walked towards Goku.

Goku and Yamcha stopped sparring when Vegeta approached them, curious about his sudden interest.

“Vegeta, are you wanting to join us? Master Roshi is a great-“

“You and me. Let’s go.”

Bulma sat up in her chair. What now?

Goku scratched his head, “You want to spar? Well alright…but I won’t go easy on you because you’re new here.”

Vegeta smirked, making Bulma feel incredibly anxious all of a sudden. He said, in a sardonic tone, “You’ll be sorry if you do.” He turned to Yamcha and spat, “You, Scarface, move out of the way.”

Yamcha, instantly offended, began sneering and puffing his chest slightly, “Hey! Asshole back off. Goku and I were already here.”

“Actually, Yamcha,” Roshi stepped between them, holding his hand up, “Why don’t you step back for a moment. I’m interested to see Vegeta’s level in fighting.”

Glaring and shaking his head, Yamcha stepped back stood out of their way, muttering curses under her breath.

“You sure about this, Vegeta? I’m pretty good at this,” Goku said, smirking as he took a few steps back from the man.

Vegeta stood southpaw, pulling on his gloves, slightly, “Somebody has to take that bravado down a notch.”

At the sound of Vegeta’s voice, Bulma could not help but feel a bit of dread come from the pit of her stomach. Fear for which one? She was not all that sure.   

 


End file.
